The Road to Hell
by SerenityChaos
Summary: A prank goes too far, and both of the brothers may pay the price. The Winchester brotherhood may never be the same. Rating may change in future chapters. More angst than humor.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story wasn't supposed to happen. I swore I wasn't going to start any more fics until I finished Dancing Down in Red Moon. I also swore I was never ever ever going to write a fic with a plot like this one's. Ever. I have no idea what possessed me to go back on that. I've never been tempted before, but for some reason this story called to me and wouldn't go away until I started writing. So I hope you all will forgive me for this (lol), and I hope it's not too cliché by the time I get done with it.

The Road to Hell pt 1

Sam blamed the fact that he didn't notice immediately on the fact that he hadn't had his cappuccino yet that morning. And on the fact that Dean acted so…normal. At least for being Dean. He should have been able to see the absolute glee trying to hide in his brother's face, but he'd been oblivious. He even missed the blatant signs around the room.

"Rise and shine, Sunshine," Dean called, yanking the sheets off of Sam's bed.

Sam grunted, but said nothing, opening one eye and scowling immediately as he noticed the pair of decidedly female boots on the floor between the two beds. He couldn't believe his brother actually had the audacity to have a girl sleep over while they were sharing a room. Especially since Sam was a very light sleeper. At least he was usually. He must have been completely zonked the night before. He tried to remember exactly how much he'd had to drink, but honestly remembered only drinking soda. Though he really only remembered drinking the first one. After that…his night was pretty much a blur.

"Come on, Samantha," Dean teased him, yanking on his ankle. "Get a move on."

Sam grunted again, his scowl deepening as he directed it at his way-too-chipper-in-the-morning brother. Dean was always really obnoxious the morning after he got laid.

Sam groaned slightly as he oozed out of bed, almost tripping over the boots. Damn, she was a big gal, he surmised, noticing the size of the boot. Had to be at least a size 12, possibly bigger. He thought Dean usually preferred the smaller girls. But then, Dean wasn't really that picky, he supposed. He frowned as he spotted the girl's clothing in a heap on the floor. Realizing that she was still somewhere in the room, he quickly reached for his sheets to cover up. Then he noticed the lump under Dean's blanket and figured that the girl was still asleep. He felt embarrassed for her, and hoped that Dean would wake her and get her dressed before he was out of the bathroom.

He must have slept pretty hard considering what had likely happened only a few feet away from him, but he was still completely exhausted. It seemed like he hadn't slept at all. He stumbled awkwardly into the bathroom and turned the shower on cold, needing the refreshing water to help him wake.

He stepped into the shower and smiled slightly as the cold water began to work its magic. He tipped his face up to the spray and smiled as the refreshing liquid cleared away his night sweats and started getting him ready for a new day. His morning shower was almost always the favorite part of his day; it soothed and relaxed him. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh scent as he spilled some of his tea-tree shampoo into his hand. It was quite a bit more expensive than Dean's, but it was one of the few things he still splurged on just a little bit. It was worth it to him to keep at least some of the simple pleasures he'd acquired while at Stanford.

Sam frowned slightly as he began his morning cleansing ritual, running his hands through his unruly mop of hair. He really was going to have to go get it cut soon. He knew it was getting too long, but it seemed somehow longer this morning. He hated getting his hair cut, though. He hated explaining that he really only wanted an inch or so taken off--he _liked_ his hair long, even if it wasn't really the style these days. He also liked that it covered his eyes sometimes. He'd never been very good at keeping his emotions hidden when people could see his eyes, so covering them really was the only way to keep people at a distance. He didn't like answering the questions when people could see the sad look that he could never seem to keep from his eyes.

He washed his face next, and was glad to note that it didn't feel like he'd need to shave that morning. It was unusual, but a welcome change to not feel the annoying morning stubble.

That change, however, took on a decidedly different tone as he started to wash his chest. Rather…his breasts.

His first thought, embarrassingly enough, was that his body had been invaded by some sort of demon. Or maybe an alien, like in those Sigourney Weaver flicks where eventually the beast rips out of the victim's chest. There were bulges where there most certainly should not be bulges. For a few moments, was honestly terrified to look down at his body, and it was on the tip of his tongue to yell for Dean. Still, modesty and embarrassment won out and he held his tongue, opting instead to venture a downward glance.

He was only partially relieved when he saw what looked like a perfectly normal pair of breasts. Actually, he was slightly appalled to admit to himself that they were actually quite a spectacular pair of breasts. At least they would be if they weren't on _him_.

He licked his lips nervously as he dared to continue the exploration of his new body. He had always had a quite angular body, and today was no exception, though he was slightly horrified to note that there were a few more angles. A narrower waist. Wider hips. He felt the blood draining from his face as he realized another major change to his anatomy.

He scrambled from the shower as if somehow that would magically transform him back to normal. But he felt no change, and when he stumbled in front of the mirror he shook his head in disbelief.

He still looked like himself, he supposed. In a warped sort of way. His face had somehow grown thinner, and his features were much softer than what he was used to except for his lips, which appeared almost swollen they were so lush. His hair, he realized, wasn't longer, it just adjusted itself to the new, decidedly more feminine, shape of his head.

He stared at himself for a few moments more, trying to figure out how the hell this had happened. He couldn't think of anything in their dad's journal that would explain it. Not with anything that they'd tangled with recently anyway. They hadn't pissed off any magic users that he knew of. Of course with the way Dean interacted with women no matter where they were, it was entirely possible his brother was the one who had pissed someone off and he'd taken the brunt of the punishment.

And then he played back his brief encounter with Dean this morning and realized something.

Dean knew about this. He'd obviously seen Sam's…new look. He had, after all, only been wearing a pair of boxers when he woke up. And Dean had called him Samantha. He'd passed it off at the time as just being his brother being terribly annoying, but all at once, he knew beyond any doubt that this was somehow Dean's fault. His way of one-man-upping in their latest prank war, no doubt.

Son of a bitch.

"Dean, you fucking asshole!" he bellowed in a furious growl, bursting from the bathroom in a rage without even bothering to grab a towel. He almost stopped short at the decidedly higher pitch of his voice. Shit. His hand flew to his throat and he winced as he realized that he no longer felt his adam's apple. He looked around the room wildly and his anger grew as he realized that Dean was no longer present.

His eyes flew to the lump in Dean's bed and he hesitated for only a moment before yanking the sheet back only to reveal that the lump wasn't a girl at all, but another blanket, bundled up to give the appearance of being a human under the covers.

Size twelve boots, Sam fumed as he stormed across the room, unnerved as he caught sight of his nude body in the mirror above the drawers. Dean was going to pay for this. Oh how Dean was going to pay.

He stopped short as he saw that his bags were no longer there.

He grit his teeth and whirled around, looking for his things. Dean had obviously taken them all out to the car. For a moment he panicked. There was no way he was going to walk naked out there to get his clothes. And the pathetic hotel towels weren't going to be enough to cover him, either.

He considered for just a moment that maybe he should just walk out there in all his naked glory and embarrass the shit out of his brother. Except that he wasn't sure that Dean would be right out there, and what if…someone else was? He swallowed hard and caught himself looking over at himself in the mirror, appraisingly. He was still the same height, he calculated, his head tipping to the side as he looked at himself curiously. His body had always been lean and muscular, and that much had not changed, though at the same time, he had definitely become a lot more graceful looking. He was fucking 'willowy'. Son of a bitch! He didn't have even a slightly threatening look about him, except maybe the murderous look in his eyes. This was so warped. As soon as he figured out how to get out of here, he was going to fucking go get even with Dean for this. He was going to remove Dean's nuts the much more painful way, he decided as he turned around and started pulling the sheet from his bed. So it wouldn't be gorgeous, but at least it would cover him. Hell, if that singing nun lady could make dresses out of curtains, he was sure that…

Dresses.

His eyes went to the pile of clothes on the floor.

Son of a fucking bitch.

Dean was such an _asshole_.

Sam grabbed up the dress and undergarments angrily, realizing they were meant for him. Fine, he would play his brother's sick game. He fumbled awkwardly as he tried to figure out how to put the bra on, and had to struggle a little to get the dress zipped all the way up in the back. He considered leaving off the stockings, but then decided that the skirt was way too short and his legs way too long and pale. And hairless. Had Dean fucking shaved his legs! He didn't even want to think about it. He would probably feel a lot less naked if he just wore the damn stockings, he finally decided. He grit his teeth in frustration as he somehow managed to snag the stockings on a toenail and put a giant run in them as he pulled them on. Still, it was better than wearing nothing.

His scowl deepened as he laced up what he could only refer to as "fuck me" boots. Size twelve and a half fuck me boots to be exact. How the hell had Dean even found those? And he'd had to have hidden them, there's no way he bought them in this tiny little town. Just how long had he been planning to do this?

Sam finished dressing and checked himself out in the mirror, totally stunned at his reflection. Oh Dean was going to pay for this. Their prank wars had gotten out of hand before, but this was…this was completely over the line.

He was indeed going to remove Dean's nuts the most painful way possible and fucking shove them down his throat. Wouldn't _that_ be funny?

Sam seethed as he ran his fingers through his hair, purposely brushing as much as possible into his face to obscure his humiliation. This was so fucked up, he swore, his hands balling into fists. He whirled and was to the motel room door in two giant steps. He threw the door open and stepped out onto the second floor balcony, his eyes sweeping out over the parking lot. The Impala was still there. So Dean couldn't have gone far. Pretty much he had to be in the hotel lobby or the diner. The diner was a pretty good bet. He was a dead man.

Slamming the door shut with far more force than necessary, Sam headed for the stairs. His anger boiled as when he made his way across the lot he caught sight of a couple of guys that were definitely checking out his new angles and curves. He glared at them until they had the grace to look away, though he was pretty certain he heard the word 'bitch' being uttered as he passed.

"Yeah, but damn look at those legs…" one of them said, following it with a low whistle.

Ignoring them, Sam threw open the door of the diner, his eyes wild with fury as he sought out his prey.

Dean saw him a split second before he saw Dean. He could tell by the insane grin that spread across his brother's smug face. His rage only flared up more as he saw Dean's eyebrows raise, giving him an almost lecherous look.

"You son of a bitch," Sam growled, practically flying across the diner at his brother. He pounced before Dean even realized what was happening, taking them both to the floor in a tangle of bodies and limbs. "You fucking son of a--"

Dean was momentarily stunned by the extent of his brother's fury. He wanted to laugh, but the wind was knocked out of him as he hit the ground, instantaneously buried beneath the somehow unfamiliar weight of his brother. No matter how many times they'd wrestled and sparred, it was completely foreign this time. He winced as Sam's fist flew down, he was certain giving him a black eye. He raised his arms in defense as his brother took another swing, but refrained from striking back.

"Whoa! Check her out!" Dean heard someone whistling in the background, and he heard a few more voices dimly in the background, though he was mostly aware of the pounding his brother was dishing out. Which he probably deserved, he figured. It was all worth it, he smiled even as he felt the next blow.

His smile faded, though, as he heard the strange hitching in his brother's breath and felt an odd wetness on his face. What the…his eyes widened slightly as he realized that his brother was so upset he was actually crying. And Sam was not a crybaby. He never had been. A whiner and a brat at times, maybe, but not a crybaby. He maybe took this prank a bit too far…even if he had deserved it for putting glue on the damn toilet seat. Dean tried to open his mouth to apologize and assure Sam that it would wear off in a day or so, but before he could, he felt Sam being pulled off of him.

"Get off me," Dean heard Sam growling as two of the diner's patrons hauled him back. Dean stayed down for a few moments, trying to reorient himself; Sam's attack had left him slightly dazed. "Let go of me…" Dean groaned, sensing that his brother was in trouble from his rescuers.

"Calm down, Girlie," the big oaf that had pulled Sam off of Dean ordered, hissing into Sam's ear as he pressed his body harshly against Sam's back, his arms wrapped tightly around Sam, pinning his arms.

Sam cringed slightly as the second man moved in much too close for comfort. Sam was more than a little grossed out when he felt distinct bulges growing in both the men's jeans. And even more so when the man in front of him ground against him as he was pressed back against the other. His eyes narrowed as he saw how the guy was leering at him. His arms were sufficiently trapped, but his legs weren't. He braced himself against his captor and kicked out wildly with both feet. He bellowed with frustration as the man foresaw his move and was ready for it, grabbing his legs and quickly stepping between them, moving obscenely close. Sam let out a furious yelp as he felt his skirt being slid upward, the man's disgusting hands sliding up his thighs. "You are a big gal, aren't you?" the man licked his lips.

"Back off," he demanded, staring the man down. He stiffened as he felt the man's hands sliding over his hips in a decidedly inappropriate way. He struggled to free his arms, his fury at his brother immediately forgotten as he struggled to free himself from the creepy assholes.

"You need to settle down, Girlie," the man he faced hissed, leaning his face closer to Sam's. Sam flinched as he smelled the man's disgusting breath. A mixture of way too many cigarettes, way too much alcohol, and not nearly enough toothpaste. "You need someone to teach you a lesson." Sam felt sick as he felt the man thrusting hard against him as one hand reached down and smacked him hard on the ass. Still unable to free his arms, and helpless to regain his footing, Sam had little recourse. He refused to stand for this treatment, though. He spat into the face of his assailant.

He cried out involuntarily as his action resulted in a vicious backhand across the face. A moment later he screamed out in absolute fury as he felt the man's hands on his breasts, squeezing hard enough to elicit a gasp. The man restraining him from behind let out an excited chuckle and he felt the man grinding against his back. No. This was so not happening. Why wasn't anyone stopping this?

And then Dean was there, hauling the first guy back and throwing punches in a flurry that even Sam had never witnessed before. Freed from one of his attackers, Sam managed to get his footing back. With only one captor, he was given a fighting chance. He stomped down on the man's foot and slammed his head back against the man's own head. The man howled and released his arms. Before the man had a chance to recover, Sam whirled on him, grabbed his head and bashed it back against the wall with more fury than he'd ever possessed.

The man went down and Sam stood back, more than a little stunned at the turn of events. He watched, dazed, as Dean took down the other guy with a solid punch to the jaw. And then Dean was right there in front of him. Looking him over with utmost concern. "Damn, Sammy, are you okay?"

Sam's eyes slowly met Dean's. He was no longer sure if he should still be beating the shit out of his brother or if he should be thanking him from the rescue. He blinked, considering, then slowly nodded, wiping the remnants of the tears he _hated_ that he had been crying from his face.

And then his fist reared back and he punched Dean one more time before leaving his stunned brother on the floor and storming out of the diner.

TBC

A/N: Please review. I'm even more nervous about this fic than I am about most of my writing, probably because I seriously had sworn never to do a gender-flop/body swap fic. If I continue, I will fill in the backstory and come up with a plausible (in this fandom anyway) explanation, I swear. Lol. Please let me know if it's just not working, or if it's just too much like other stories of this…genre(?). Thanks for reading! – Chaos


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review and encourage me to continue (against my will Pizzapixie, oh yes against my will :P . JK…sorta lol). I'm glad that even those of you who are weary (as am I) of this genre of fic are sticking with me. I truly appreciate it and hope that I can continue to keep a not-too-original concept from going stale. I know it may be confusing, but despite Sam's current anatomy I will continue to refer to him as a "he" because his upstairs brain would still see himself as one.

Disclaimer cuz I always forget to put one: I don't own Supernatural, not making any money from 'em, just enjoy mucking around in their universe a bit.

Chapter Two

Sam didn't care if he scratched the paint on the Impala's trunk as he diligently worked to jimmy the lock so he could pop it open. He wanted his stuff, and he wanted it now. He didn't care why the hell Dad had sent them to Fuckedupville, Idaho, or wherever they were. He'd had enough. Enough time on the road, enough researching, enough hunting, and more than enough Dean.

"Sammy," he heard Dean call out as his brother stumbled out of the diner. He could hear the apologetic tone in his brother's voice, but he didn't care. He didn't even want to hear it. "Sam, come on, hold up," Dean tried again, jogging over to the car.

Sam turned to face him, barely containing the urge to punch him again. "What?" he spat angrily.

"Sam, just calm down…" Dean started, ready to try and placate his brother.

"Calm down?" Sam repeated back, in disbelief. "Calm down, Dean? What the…" He was so flustered that he couldn't even complete whatever question he was going to ask. "I wake up this morning and, _hello_, I'm in this body. As if that weren't bad enough, I just got felt up and dry humped by…Bruno and Bluto Bumpkin in there. Do you have any idea how many years of therapy this is going to take to get past?"

Dean did his best to hide his smile, but he couldn't quite. He saw Sam's jaw go slightly slack and a new surge of hatred reached his brother's eyes. Immediately the smile vanished. "Sam, look. I'm sorry. I had no idea that something like that would happen."

Sam blinked. So Dean admitted it. This was his fault. "You son of a bitch." His eyes blazed with fury.

Dean held up his hands in surrender. "Sam, I swear I thought it would be funny. Oh man, I wish I could have seen your face when you…" For a change, he seemed to realize that this was not the thing to say to get his brother to calm down enough to forgive him, and quickly changed tactics. "It's only for a day or so. Then you'll be back to normal."

Sam eyed him suspiciously. "Swear?"

"Swear. You'll be back to being boring boy by morning."

Sam glared at him, but nodded slowly, feeling a slight bit better. One day. He could deal with this for one day. Half the population lived like this daily and didn't have problems; he could do it for one day.

"Or possibly by tomorrow afternoon."

Sam raised an eyebrow, his jaw growing tense again.

"I'm sure by morning, though," Dean amended again.

Right.

Sam shook his head, still angry, but calming slightly more. "So what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" he asked in a barely controlled voice.

Dean glanced at him and shrugged a little. "We still don't know why Dad sent us here, so I'm thinking that we should do a little bit of poking around today." Sam started to nod, but stopped when Dean couldn't help but add with a smirk, "Who knows, maybe your new assets will--"

That was it. Sam went back to jimmying the lock on the trunk. Sure he could just ask for the keys, but he wasn't about to ask Dean for anything. Not today.

"Sammy…"

"My name is Sam," he grit out between clenched teeth. Dean slapped his brother's hands away from the trunk's lock. Sam glared at him. "I want my stuff."

"Don't worry, I'll take it all back up to the room."

Sam shook his head. "No. I want my stuff. Until this," he motioned down at his body, "is fixed, I'm not staying here with you."

Dean let out a long suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a gir…" he stopped mid-sentence and bit his lip lightly with amusement as Sam stared at him incredulously. Oops. "Oh come on, Sam. You're not really going to leave." It wasn't a question.

Sam looked at him, his jaw set with determination. "I know, Dean. I'm going to stay and finish this…job. Just not with you. When I'm back to normal, I'll come back. But right now, I think it's best if we just…split up."

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm a big boy--"

"Actually--" Dean's lips curved into a smirk.

"Not a word!" Sam snapped, begrudging his poor choice of defense. "I can handle myself for a day. I'll go to the library and do some asking around. But I'm not spending the day with you gloating about…this."

Dean nodded, "I promise, no more gloating."

Sam shook his head. "Look. I'm still pissed at you. I just…need to not look at you the rest of the day."

Dean held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, fine. We go our separate ways for today, but you're still coming back here tonight. We don't know what's out there, and I don't think you should be--"

"No," Sam countered firmly. "I'm going to find myself someplace else to stay until I'm ready to talk to you again."

Dean rolled his eyes again. "Sammy…"

"No. You don't get to call this one. I…I trusted you, Dean. And you what? Did you drug me last night? Is that why I can't remember anything? Why would you do something like this to me? How did…how did you even?"

Dean shrugged and looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well see there was this voodoo chick down in Orleans who was into some really weird kinky shit. And this one time…"

Sam closed his eyes tight and shook his head holding up his hand to stop Dean. "No. I don't think I even want to know this." Dean only smiled slightly and waved his hands in a gesture that seemed to say 'don't say I didn't try to tell you…' "Just open the trunk…please."

Reluctantly, Dean did just that. He frowned as he watched Sam pull his suitcase from the trunk. Sam was actually serious. He wasn't even going to stay at the same freaking hotel. Overdramatic much? "Okay, but you're calling me when you find a place and you're checking in with me every couple hours."

It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes. "Yes, Mom," he replied sarcastically.

"Uh…"

"Not a word."

Dean decided that it would be prudent to heed his brother's warning and stop teasing. For now, at least. Especially if he was to have any luck persuading his brother to if not forgive him, to at least start trusting him again and playing things safe. "I'm serious, Sam. We don't know what we're dealing with here. So you learn anything you call me. And you don't check in, I will hunt you down." Sam wanted to say something sarcastic, but he stopped himself when he saw the truly concerned look on his brother's face. He let out a deep breath and nodded. "And if you need help or anything…" Dean's head turned as he heard someone else coming out of the diner. The aforementioned Bruno and Bluto. Perhaps he really should have waited for this prank until they weren't in some backwater town. His eyes narrowed as he saw the way the pair was looking at his brother. Yeah, he definitely should have waited. He'd figured it'd be a safe time to do it since today was going to be all about figuring out why they were there and researching, no actual hunting. But he'd failed to consider the possibility that the local rednecks weren't housebroken. "Uh, Sam? Maybe we really should stay together…"

But Sam had already pulled his suitcase and was stalking away.

Dean thought about going after him, but decided better of it. He was certain that Sam would get over it as soon as they got back to work and figured out what it was they were up against. He was also sure that Sam would be dragging that bag back to their hotel room at some point. Hell, he wasn't even sure there was another inn anywhere nearby anyway. It was a tiny town, and he couldn't imagine there being need for more than one hotel. His brother wanted to be stubborn and drag it all over town with him all day, fine. He grabbed his own bag and slammed the trunk shut. He looked back at the Bumpkins, but it appeared that they were back to being just two dumb rednecks, hanging out in a diner parking lot shooting the shit. He glanced at Sam's retreating form one more time, then collected his bag and headed back to the room.

Sam knew he was probably overreacting a little bit considering that he now knew that this was only a temporary situation, but he still couldn't stand the idea of spending the day suffering through the countless digs he was certain Dean would be able to come up with. Besides, he needed some time to come up with his revenge. Maiming him, though tempting, was probably going too far. But he still was going to have to pay for this one. Somehow. Not for the first time in his life, he wished he had more of his brother's creativity. And perhaps a bit more of Dean's borderline evil plotting capability.

The inn was about six blocks from the bulk of the little town, and Sam made it about two of them before he realized that he heard footsteps following him. Assuming it was Dean, he stepped up his pace just a little bit. He noted that his follower did not speed up along with him. "Go away, Dean," he called back over his shoulder even as he slowed his pace again. He knew if his brother wanted to catch him, he would do exactly that. He may be taller, but was fairly certain that Dean was faster. Besides, he wasn't exactly wearing great running attire.

He became aware of the sound of an approaching car and moved farther to the side of the road. He tensed slightly as he realized the car was slowing down as it approached him. He was certain that it wasn't the Impala; the engine didn't sound right, plus there was no tell-tale sound of mullet rock blaring from within. He ventured a glance over his shoulder and winced as he recognized The Bumpkins. Great. He started to walk faster again, but a few moments later it drew up alongside him.

"Hey, Girlie," one of them greeted as the car passed him only to turn sharply in front of him and rolled to a stop. Crap.

Sam stopped walking for a moment, contemplating his best move. He'd had a female body for less than two waking hours, and already he'd been assaulted once. It was definitely not an experience he wanted to continue. Especially without Dean's backup. Maybe he'd been too hasty about splitting up, after all.

He dropped his bag and got into ready stance as Bumpkin One got out of the passenger seat. The man laughed. "What you going to do? You ain't got your boyfriend here to protect you."

Sam scowled and crouched slightly, readying for battle. The two had gotten the drop on him the first time, but only because his focus had been on Dean. This time he didn't have that interference. He also happened to remember dropping one of these guys with only two real moves. He was a well-trained fighter. These guys had no idea what they were in for. He glanced sideways, scouting the ground for a stick or anything that he could use for a weapon.

"Someone needs to teach you a lesson," the approaching Bumpkin sneered.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "That right? Just what is it I need to learn?" he ground out angrily. Just how backwater was this place? Were they still living in the 50s or what?

"You need to mind your manners."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Okay. I'm sorry I kicked your ass back there," he replied sarcastically. He almost grinned as he saw the man's eyes widen with indignity.

"Watch your mouth, Bitch." The man reached out to grab Sam's arm, but Sam was quicker, leaping and swinging his leg up and out in a powerful kick to the man's jaw. The man stumbled back a step before falling to the ground, clutching his mouth.

"I'd say you better watch yours," Sam spat back, his eyes darting to the second Bumpkin, who was heading toward him as well. He took a few steps back, out of reach of the first one and readied himself for further attack. What was it with these creeps? Were girls like totally foreign here or something? Surely they didn't treat the local women this way. Right? He didn't have time to contemplate that as the man lunged at him. He stopped the guy with a quick jab to the throat followed by a knee to the groin. He grinned ferally as the man dropped into the gravel beside his friend. Hesitating for a few moments to see if either was going to try again, he heard the person behind him running toward them. He whirled, ready to defend himself against a third attacker if necessary.

A young man rushing up behind him immediately skidded to a stop, his arms raised in surrender. "Whoa, it's okay. I'm not one of them," the guy assured quickly. "I was too far back or I would have…" he motioned to the two on the ground. "Not that it appears you needed my assistance." Sam turned so that his back was to neither the two on the ground or the new arrival. He looked at the newcomer appraisingly, and slowly relaxed a notch, taking a chance that the guy was sincere. "Well, since I was too late to help with them, can I help you with that?"

Sam raised an eyebrow and looked back at the guy. Help him with…what? The guy smiled brightly and motioned toward Sam's bag. "Oh. No. That's okay, I've got it." Sam glanced back at his would-be assailants and determined that they were not currently a threat. Though he certainly wouldn't be surprised if they came back to haunt him again when there wouldn't be a witness to their ineptitude. Sam grabbed his bag and turned back to the guy awkwardly. "Thanks, though."

"No, I insist," the guy replied, reaching out to take Sam's bag from him. "Sorry I didn't catch up before Bobby and Kyle…" the guy motioned to the idiots on the ground. "They're…" he just shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Well, most of us aren't like them."

Sam didn't relinquish his hold on his bag. It would just be too weird to let this guy carry it when he was perfectly capable of doing so himself. "Thanks, but I've got it…uh…"

"Ben," the guy introduced himself and extended his hand.

Sam took the hand and shook it amicably. "Sam…antha," he had to concentrate not to wince as he added the last. "I just go by Sam."

"Samantha's a pretty name," Ben said softly and Sam felt his face heating up a little bit. This was just about as weird as it could get. Dean was still going to have to die. "Here, let me take that for you. It's still a little ways to town."

Sam forced himself to smile politely. "Really, I've got it, but if you could point me in the direction of the nearest…uh…next nearest inn?"

Ben nodded. "Sure. I'll walk you there. I'm headed into town anyway."

Sam had to concentrate to not roll his eyes. He really didn't need or want an escort, but it really wasn't worth making another scene over. So, fine. At least this guy seemed nice. "Thanks." As he started walking toward town, Ben fell into step beside him.

For the first block or so they walked in an awkward silence before Ben finally attempted to break the ice. "So, Samantha, what brings you to Prairieville?"

"Oh. Um…" his mind raced, seeking a good explanation for why he and Dean were not just passing through the tiny town but likely staying for a few days. The oldest standby really seemed the best choice. It gave license for asking questions, and fishing for stories. "Actually, I'm a reporter."

"You must be here about those girls," Ben acknowledged quietly.

Sam nodded, hoping that Ben would elaborate without too much prodding. Even if he didn't he maybe now had a starting point for his search.

"I wondered how long it would be before someone showed up here."

Sam glanced at him curiously.

"Six girls disappearing without a trace…and every single one of them stopped here in Prairieville before going missing?" Ben continued. Oh yes, this was definitely why they were sent here. "Well, let's just say I'm really surprised you're the first one to actually come to check it out. Did you know the state police haven't even questioned anyone here?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "So how do you know…?"

"It's a small town. I take care of the town landscape. Maintain the streetlights, mow town property, all that sort of thing. Since I'm usually out on the street, I see pretty much everyone who comes and goes."

"So, um…did you talk to any of these girls? When they were passing through?"

"Yeah. I talked to most of them. And well Annabeth lived here, you know. She was the first…well the first I know of anyway. It wasn't until she disappeared that I started taking notice of these things. For all I know there might be more than six of them. I just…wasn't paying attention until she…" Ben stopped talking and he took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

Sam nodded with sudden understanding. "Annabeth. She was your…?"

"Fiancé," Ben supplied, looking away from Sam.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Thanks. It's been almost six months but I…I still can't believe she's gone."

Sam smiled sadly, feeling a new sort of camaraderie with the guy. "Yeah my…" he almost slipped and said girlfriend, but caught himself at the last moment. "My best friend was killed about nine months ago. It's hard to get over that sort of thing."

Ben stopped walking, and Sam stopped along side him. "I don't think you really can get over it," Ben admitted, looking ahead the final block to where the bulk of the town loomed. "I know I should just…leave here. Try to start over somewhere, but…I just feel like I can't even do that until I find out what happened to her."

Oh yeah, Sam knew that feeling, too. He set his bag down suspecting that this wasn't going to be a brief stop. "Yeah, that's kind of why I do this," he replied, nodding down toward his bag. Ben looked over at him curiously. "It won't bring her back but…"

"But maybe it will help you make sense of it."

Sam shrugged. That wasn't really what he meant, but in a way it was true too. And it sounded a whole lot better than admitting that he was out for vengeance. Justice. Whichever he could get.

Ben suddenly reached up and swept Sam's hair back out of his eyes. Sam jerked back in surprise and Ben quickly moved away. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook you. It's just…you remind me of her in a way. Annabeth."

Sam licked his lips nervously. "Oh?" he asked, unsure how to handle this kind of attention any better than he'd handled the unwanted attention of the two goons.

"Yeah. She was a fighter, too," Ben smiled a little too brightly, his eyes remaining sad. "You really were impressive. I don't think those guys knew what hit them," he chuckled lightly, and Sam could feel himself blushing a little under the guy's scrutiny.

"Yeah, thanks," he stammered, feeling extremely awkward.

"You think maybe…"

Sam looked over at him when he stopped. "Hmm?"

"Would you have dinner with me tonight?" Sam's eyes widened with surprise. "I know you don't really know me, but," Ben hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I'd really like to change that." His hand brushed lightly against Sam's.

Sam swallowed hard. Oh lord. "I don't…"

"Please. Just dinner. It's…been a long time since I've even just talked to a woman. I think maybe…I just think it'd be really nice to get to know you."

"Ben, I…"

Ben cut him off with a wave and a little smile. "You've got a boyfriend, right? Should have figured that. It's okay, I understand. Still, you're in town for a few days, right? Nothing wrong with a friendly dinner, right?"

Sam was completely tongue-tied for a moment as he tried to wrap his brain around the idea that this guy thought he had a boyfriend. Still, it was a pretty convenient excuse, so he decided not to correct it. "Yeah, no…um sure. That'd be nice," he managed to choke out.

"Great. I can maybe bring my notes. Maybe something there can help you with your story."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"I'll swing by and pick you up at the inn around six-thirty?" Sam hesitated again, this sounding a bit too much like a date for his comfort. "Or you can meet me at the lodge?" Ben suggested, catching on to Sam's uneasiness. "It's just a couple blocks past the end of Main," Ben motioned in the correct direction. "It's the better of the two restaurants around here. Bobby and Kyle were banned for life already," he added with a charming smile.

Sam caught himself grinning back and nodded his approval. "Great. I'll meet you there at six-thirty."

Ben nodded. He picked up Sam's bag and started walking again, a smile on his face. Sam cringed slightly at the new spring in the man's step. He wondered guiltily if by agreeing to go tonight he was totally leading this guy on. No, it wouldn't be his fault, he'd said no initially and agreed only when he suggested going as friends. He wasn't leading Ben on. Still, he couldn't help but feel awkward and guilty about it. He was pretty certain that if Ben knew that Sam wasn't really a girl, he'd never have asked him out even as friends.

Oh Dean was going to pay for this.

"Well here we are," Ben announced as they reached the first building on the edge of Main. He opened the door for Sam and motioned him on inside. "Shirl here will take good care of you. Morning, Shirl!" Ben greeted, waving to the elderly woman behind the counter.

"Good morning, Ben," she returned, looking up. Her smile widened as she looked up at Sam in surprise. Sam could feel himself blushing a little again. "And who might you be, Darling?"

"This here is Samantha. She's going to be in town a couple of days, needs a place to stay."

Sam wasn't sure whether he should be amused or a bit put off by the way Ben was talking for him. He imagined, though, that the guy was just trying to be polite. "Thanks for everything, Ben. I'll see you tonight," Sam dismissed him politely, reaching out to take his bag back.

"Looking forward to it," Ben replied, his eye lingering a little too long on Sam before he handed the bag over. "You need anything while you're here, you can usually find me pretty easy." Sam nodded his appreciation. "See you tonight."

Sam relaxed considerably as the young man finally left him alone.

"He's taken quite a liking to you, Samantha," Shirl commented, sounding quite giddy.

Sam forced himself to keep smiling. "Just Sam, please," he asked of her, really not wanting Dean to overhear everyone calling him Samantha. He'd never hear the end of this regardless, but it'd be worse if Dean had ammunition.

"I haven't seen him look that happy since…well in a long time." Sam nodded uncomfortably. "Business is slow this time of year, so you've pretty much got pick of the rooms."

"Whatever you have is fine," Sam replied quickly, just wanting to get his key and get back to his room where he could call Dean and fill him in on what he'd already learned.

"I love this one," Shirl commented as she lifted key # 4 off the last hook. All three of the other keys were still hanging. Business was definitely slow. "Follow me, it's right this way…"

Sam forced himself to keep smiling when Shirl let him into his room. There was no way Dean was ever going to see it, he decided immediately as his eyes darted over the pink frilly curtains and the purple satin bedspread. He would absolutely never live down Dean's teasing. "Thank you…it's great."

"I can see why Ben likes you," Shirl said quietly as she backed out of the room. "You look a lot like…"

"Annabeth?" Sam asked quietly.

Shirl nodded sadly. "You're a lot taller, of course, but…you have the same eyes. Oh, but he took it hard when she ran off."

Sam's head cocked to the side. "Ran off? I thought she…disappeared."

"A week before the wedding. She didn't even leave a note."

"So you think she left on her own accord?"

"You don't? Oh dear…"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Do you know her last name?"

"Of course. It's a small town. Rochester."

"Do you know where her parents…?"

Shirl's smile grew sadder. "Poor dear. She lost them both just a year before. Accident out on Route 10."

Sam hid his disappointment. Of course it was too bad that the girl lost her parents, but beyond that it would have made his job a whole lot easier if he could verify with them that Annabeth hadn't just left on her own.

"She stayed right here, you know." That got Sam's attention back. "In this room. She painted all of those," she motioned toward the nightscape paintings that lined the walls. They weren't the best he'd seen, but the girl had definitely had talent. "Then one night she just disappeared. Took all her things and vanished. I'd have thought that she'd at least take her paintings, she loved them so, but I guess…I guess she knew I liked them and left them for me."

With that, Shirl handed Sam his key and left him alone.

As soon as she was gone, Sam dug into his bag and sought out his cell phone. There was work to do, so he set his anger with his brother aside and dialed his number.

"Dean? Meet me in town. I think I've got a lead on why we're here," he said as soon as his brother answered. He hung up, not even waiting for a response.

A/N: Thanks again for reading. Reviews highly appreciated. And don't worry, Dean will be back in the next chapter, and will be playing a much bigger role in the rest of the fic; just needed a setup chapter...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Asshole," Sam cursed Dean as he put another big snag in the stockings as he drew them back on. He shoved his jeans back into his bag damning his brother to hell yet again. Thanks to his new shape, he couldn't even wear his own freaking jeans, and was stuck with the slinky black dress that Dean had so "kindly" picked out for him. He wondered if there was anywhere in town that would happen to have a pair of jeans in his current size. Unfortunately, he didn't figure there was much call for clothing for a 6'4" woman in such a small town. Maybe he'd luck out, but the way his life was going, it was highly unlikely. Maybe he'd at least be able to find a pair of sweats or something, though. While those weren't exactly the best protection for demon hunting, they'd be far better than a skirt and stockings.

He couldn't even wear his own shoes, he groused, shoving those back into his bag as well. It seemed that among the many other changes to his body, his feet had narrowed, making his regular shoes too loose. He considered wearing them anyway, but if he should need to fight or anything, they would put him at a disadvantage, and at risk for injuring himself. Begrudgingly he began lacing up the fuckmes again.

At least they would lend themselves well to carrying weapons, should he be forced to hunt before he could wear his own clothes again. In fact, he considered for a moment, he probably should be carrying regardless. He carefully sheathed his favorite blade in his right boot, just in case. He hated being caught with his guard down.

Only one day, he reminded himself, as he glanced at his only somewhat familiar reflection in the mirror. He looked utterly ridiculous, he assessed miserably. He tried not to let it bother him by telling himself that it didn't matter; he would be back to normal in the morning. Part of him wanted to just stay in the room and sleep until the normalness happened, but he'd already called Dean, and they had some work to do. He swept his fingers through his hair, purposely smoothing it into his face. The better to hide behind. Not that, being as tall as he was, he wasn't going to totally stand out anyway, he chided himself sullenly.

With a sigh, he grabbed the key for his room and headed downstairs. Having no pockets, he stopped at the desk and asked if he could just leave it with Shirl. She accepted it and told him just to stop at the desk when he needed let back in. Then he headed outside to wait for Dean. It was a small town, so he had no doubt that even though he hadn't said where to meet that there'd be no problem finding each other.

He almost turned around and went back inside as he ran into Ben, who was sweeping the sidewalk in front of the inn. Although Ben was nice, and he was certain that under different circumstances he wouldn't mind being friends with the guy, he wasn't sure if maybe he'd actually prefer another run-in with the Bumpkins. He definitely felt a lot more in his element fighting them than he did when Ben smiled at him.

"Hey, Samantha," Ben greeted, propping his broom against the siding and approaching him, flashing the almost dreaded smile again. "I was hoping I'd catch you again this morning."

Sam smiled back warily. "Hi…you were?" he asked, cautiously.

"Yeah. I just was thinking…well, there's not a lot to do around here, but if you want, I could take the day off and kind of show you around." Sam's eyes widened and he tried to figure out a good excuse when Ben startled him by reaching up and gently stroking the hair back out of his face again. "You shouldn't hide your face like that," Ben said softly. "You have very pretty eyes."

Sam swallowed hard and had to will himself to not overreact when he felt Ben's fingers gently stroke his cheek. He wasn't entirely sure what he should do. He certainly wouldn't ever go up to a virtual stranger and caress their cheek. So…would most girls freak when some guy did this? Even if the guy was nice? Sam knew his heart was racing, but he had no idea what the appropriate response would be other than to stammer, "Thanks."

He was pretty sure that he failed to keep the nervousness out of his smile when Ben dropped it and changed back to his offer, "After I show you around, I could help you out with your story. I know all of Annabeth's friends, and can answer questions. If you want."

"That would be really great," Sam lied. It took all his willpower to not bolt as Ben's smile brightened even more, and once again that hand was lightly brushing his cheek. And was it his imagination or was Ben staring at his lips? Good gods. "But um…" He looked up and was relieved to see the Impala approaching. He didn't think he'd ever been happier to see his brother, even if he was still extremely pissed at him. "Unfortunately…" He motioned to the car.

The car rolled to a stop at the curb. Dean raised his eyebrows and looked from Sam to Ben, who hastily took a step back away from Sam. Sam gave Ben a falsely apologetic smile and quickly moved around to the passenger side of the car, relieved to have been spared from further awkwardness. He waved to Ben as he climbed in the car.

"Who's that?" Dean asked.

"Just drive," Sam spoke through his smile, giving Ben a little wave.

Dean smirked a little, and did as he was told.

There really wasn't much of Main Street, so he just headed out of town, figuring that they could discuss Sam's findings, come up with a plan, and then head back. "So you said you had a lead?"

"I think so." Sam proceeded to fill him in, telling him about the trouble with Bobby and Kyle and about Ben and Annabeth, and the other missing girls.

"So wait. Back up a second. You're telling me that you're going out on a date with this guy?" Dean asked, his eyebrows raised high enough that Sam wondered inanely if he hit just right if they'd be knocked right off his head. He was also certain, now, that calling Dean was a mistake. He should have just stayed on his own, handled this job himself.

"No," Sam snapped. "It's not a date. We're having a friendly dinner so he can tell me what he knows about the missing girls. That's all."

"And you fell for that?" Dean asked incredulously.

Sam glared at him. "Not every guy is a total sleaze. I've gone out for dinner with girls without it being a date. Or even a wannabe date." Dean simply shook his head in amusement, as though only Sam would possibly come up with such a concept. "Shut up."

"Not saying a word," Dean said, though the expression on his face said it all for him. "Here, I got you this," he said, pulling a large cup of coffee from the cup holder and handing it to Sam as a peace offering.

Sam accepted the cup gratefully, having still not had his morning caffeine. It still felt pretty hot, though, so he settled for just inhaling the scent and relaxing for a moment.

Literally a moment.

"You do know, that guy thinks you're totally hot, though right?" Dean couldn't help but tease his brother. He laughed at the murderous look Sam flashed him. "You know, you _are_ cute when you're angry."

Sam fumed silently, not believing that Dean still thought this was somehow funny. He'd have thought that his getting attacked not once, but twice, by the Bumpkin Brothers would maybe clue Dean in that perhaps his little 'prank' was anything but humorous. And he wasn't about to forget any time soon that in order to pull it off, Dean had to have drugged him or something. Probably when he'd so kindly offered to buy Sam's soda.

Sam eyed his coffee; it somehow no longer seemed so appealing. He carefully set it back in the cup holder.

"Okay, so six girls all came through here and all have since disappeared. Did they disappear from here or like did they come through here, get to their destinations, and then disappear?" Dean asked, getting back to business and giving his brother time to simmer down.

"I don't know. Annabeth Rochester was last seen here in town, I guess. But it seems that she may have actually packed up her bags and left town. But then she's never been seen or heard from again, so it's possible that she was going to leave, but didn't actually make it. She didn't leave a note to say goodbye or tell anyone where she was going."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, so we see if we can find any sign of her after she left here. Do we know how she left town? Did she have a car or anything?"

Sam shook his head, "I don't know, but we can maybe see if we can get in and look through her public records. It's probably not related, but we'll also want to check out an accident on Route 10 about a year before she disappeared. I guess both her parents…"

"An orphan," Dean mulled it over a little. "Any brothers and sisters?"

"Don't know. Possibly, but I doubt it. She stayed in a room at the inn. Shirl didn't mention anyone staying with her."

"So no real attachments."

"Except Ben."

"Ah yes. Ben…" Dean swooned as he smirked and waggled his eyebrows.

Sam grit his teeth, but otherwise did his best to ignore Dean's mocking. "We also need to see if we can find out about the other missing girls. Prairieville is probably too small to have much of a library, so we should maybe try heading up to Jackson, they'll have a better archive of regional news."

Dean nodded. "Okay, but we should probably hurry." Sam looked questioningly over at his brother. "Hey, we've got to get you back in time for your date."

"Fuck you."

"Hey, hey heeey. Watch the language; there's a lady present."

That was it. "Pull over."

Dean rolled his eyes and kept driving. Damn but Sam could be oversensitive sometimes…

"I mean it. Pull over, now," Sam ground out. "Pull over or I swear I will take a dive," he threatened, reaching for the door handle. He honestly wasn't sure if he was serious or not, but he also knew that Dean wouldn't take the chance.

Proving him right, Dean slowed and pulled to the side of the road, though not without a long-suffering sigh. "You are such a drama queen," he muttered, without even meaning to make another dig at Sam's temporary gender reassignment. He didn't get a chance to apologize, though, because Sam had the door open and was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop.

Dean waited, allowing Sam to have some time to cool down a little and perhaps reconsider that they were at least ten miles out of town. He watched Sam in the side mirror as the younger man stubbornly stalked back toward town. He sat up straighter, though, as he saw Sam crossing the road and walking backward as though…as though…

Oh hell no.

His brother couldn't possibly be that dumb. No way was he hitchhiking. Not with that body, not in that dress. Dean suddenly really regretted his choice of outfits. He should have gone with something much more conservative, he realized. Of course he hadn't been thinking of safety at all when he'd picked it, only how funny it would be to make Sam wear something borderline skanky. Suddenly, though, the situation wasn't nearly as funny as it was when he'd come up with the idea. He really hadn't counted on just how pissed Sam would be about the whole deal--a critical error on his part.

He threw the Impala into reverse and started backing after his brother.

"Sam, get in the car," Dean demanded, trying not to let on that he was more than a little freaked out by this new development. Damn, if Sam got picked up by some creep out there, if he got hurt, it would be entirely Dean's fault. He winced as Sam kept walking, not responding at all to his order. "So help me if you don't get in the car now, I am going to kick your ass," he called out, in disguised desperation.

Sam made no attempt to move toward the car, just kept walking backward. He smiled smugly as he saw a convertible rounding the bend, headed toward them. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes locked with Dean's. He raised an eyebrow as if challenging Dean to stop him. In reality, he no more wanted to get into a stranger's car than he wanted to be drawn and quartered. While he had hitchhiked many times without batting an eye, he knew that it was different now. He had no real intention of actually doing it; he just wanted to make Dean sweat a bit, maybe rethink how funny this _wasn't_.

He wasn't so sure that it was a good idea to play with fire, though, as the convertible slowed to a stop between him and the Impala. The way the driver looked over at him made him extremely uneasy. He glanced back at Dean, who was now stopped just on the other side of the convertible.

"This guy bothering you, Honey?" the convertible driver asked, his eyes traveling slowly down Sam's astoundingly long legs, making Sam feel slightly ill.

"No. I'm fine, thanks anyway," he answered, dismissing the guy. He stepped back, away from the edge of the road.

Unfortunately, the guy did not take the hint and instead leaned over and pushed open the passenger door. Even when Sam didn't make any move toward the waiting car, the guy didn't take the hint. "Well, come on, Sweetheart," he called and patted the seat. "Don't worry, I won't bite."

Sam forced a smile. "Um…thanks, but I think I'm just going to walk. Really…thanks, though."

"Aw, come on, Honey, don't be like that…" the guy spoke silkily.

"I believe she said she didn't want a ride," Dean said testily.

"You just butt out of this," the guy snapped back, his eyes not leaving Sam.

Dean pursed his lips and glared past the guy at Sam. This could have been avoided if Sam had just gotten back in the car. He reached over and popped the glove compartment, retrieving a pistol. It was currently unloaded, but he made a show of drawing it out anyway. "I believe _my wife_ said she didn't want a ride," he drawled, his voice low and dangerous.

Sam almost burst out laughing at the expression on the guy's face. For a moment, he was certain the guy was going to piss his pants right there. The guy scrambled to close the door even while stepping on the gas.

"Your _wife_?" Sam couldn't contain his amusement once the other vehicle was out of range.

"Saved your ass, didn't it? Now get in the car."

Sam hesitated for a few moments. The edge had once again worn off his anger, but he wasn't yet ready to forgive. Still, they were out in the middle of nowhere, and he wasn't likely to be able to get out to Jackson and back to Prairieville on his own. He looked toward the retreating tail lights of the convertible. Another bullet dodged.

"Okay, dude, but one word about _wifely duties_ and I'm taking you for everything you've got," he joked shrewdly as he returned to the passenger seat.

The corners of Dean's lips curved upward as he started back on the road to Jackson. Just that small bit of humor assured him that after all was said and done, the two of them were going to be okay. "Don't worry, Sammi. You're really not my type."

A/N: Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed so far (and to those who will). Any and all comments and constructive criticism are welcomed and appreciated! –Chaos


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up. I had a serious case of writer's block. UGH! But I have half-completed chapters of my other two fics as well, so hopefully will be seeing a few more updates soon.

Thank you to everyone who's been reviewing, it means a lot to me!

I have made some minor changes to previous chapters--I just can never leave well enough alone! There's nothing too important, just some aesthetics for the most part, though I did decide that I needed to establish that Dean chose such a nasty prank to retaliate for Sam's nasty prank of putting glue on the toilet seat. So…still this prank went too far, but at least now he wasn't pulling it on a (mostly) innocent Sam. That note as well as a few other small details have been added to chapter one, but you shouldn't really need to reread unless you want to. ;)

Small squick warning: Borderline Wincestuous thoughts occur, but keeping them (mostly) to character, so not really going there.

Chapter Four

_Don't worry, Sammy, you're really not my type. _Only, Dean conceded--though only to himself--because of two things. One, despite all appearances Sam was still his _brother_. The other…well…the truth was Dean didn't really _have_ a type. Blonde, brunette, or red-head? They were all good. Short, tall, average? It didn't really matter. As long as they were at least somewhat adventurous and were into him, he was pretty amendable. Especially since it was unlikely, as Cassie had proven, that he'd be able to really settle down with anyone until he retired from the hunt. If and when that time came…well, he'd be a lot more discriminatory. Until then, though, pretty much anything went. The first reason, of course, made the second one moot. If it weren't for that, and Dean was truly objective about it, though, he could understand why Sam was attracting quite a bit of unwanted attention.

While Sam wasn't one of the most gorgeous girls that Dean had seen, he definitely stood out. Quite literally considering his height. Beyond that, though, he had a very attractive face. His high cheekbones had become more prominent as his normally rugged features had softened dramatically, giving him a strikingly exotic look. It also didn't help that he embodied the term 'body that wouldn't quit,' especially since said body was accentuated by a dress with a rather low neckline and a too short skirt. With a decent haircut and perhaps a bit more…refinement? Sam would probably fall into the gorgeous category. But Sam was _still_ his _brother_, and that was all that mattered.

That didn't make him any less distracting.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his chair, unusually conscious of the way his brother was leaning over his shoulder while he typed. Rather he was conscious of the way his brother's recently acquired breasts kept brushing against his back and shoulder. It seemed like every time he realized it happened, Sam would momentarily back away, but then a few seconds later he'd be back, peering over Dean's shoulder again, watching the screen for anything that looked like it could potentially be connected to Prairieville or the missing girls.

It disturbed Dean greatly that he was even aware of it; had Sam been born female, he was certain that there wouldn't be an issue here at all. It wasn't that he was actually attracted to his brother; it was just the foreignness of Sam's temporary body that threw everything completely out of whack. Being on the road and on the hunt for most of his life, he really wasn't used to spending much time in such close proximity to a feminine body without there being something of the sexual nature about it. It was wrong on so many levels that _Sam_ was affecting him, though, and it made him feel slightly ill that he was suddenly hyperaware of his brother's body. It took most of his concentration to not think about it, or to not snap at his brother to just back off so he could think clearly. Sam would never let Dean hear the end of it if he figured out the effect he was having on his brother. He really should have thought this prank out a bit more before executing it.

So far their internet search was coming up practically empty. Not even Annabeth Rochester's disappearance warranted more than a paragraph-long article in the daily police blotter. It appeared that her disappearance was reported, but that it had been ruled as being voluntary. According to police belief, she'd packed up her things, and hit the road. There was nothing to indicate that she hadn't just had cold feet and decided to disappear rather than face her wedding day.

"Wait. Back up a second. How about that one?" Sam suggested, pointing out a police report that he'd just skimmed past. A girl named Cindy Weston was reported possibly missing by her college roommate two days after the semester began.

Dean frowned. How could someone be 'possibly missing'. Either they were or they weren't. He clicked the link for what turned out to be the only slightly larger story. According to the report, Cindy was an incoming freshman from Lyle, Idaho, a town that was twenty-seven miles away from Prairieville, if Sam's estimation was correct. It seemed that Cindy had been emailing her roommate-to-be all summer and had been excited about going to college. But then she'd never shown up.

Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any sort of follow up report that the brothers could find. The initial report had been filed, but apparently there hadn't been anything deemed important enough to investigate further. Perhaps it was because she was reported missing only by a virtual stranger.

"Maybe she just decided college wasn't for her," Dean suggested.

"Maybe," Sam agreed, "but we should still check that one out. See if she's ever been found." He jotted down the name. "It's the closest we've come to a lead in the past half hour. You keep looking and I'll go see if I can find anything in the regional newspapers that might have more information about Cindy." He bit back the comment that Ben had found six such cases so there should be at least four more that shouldn't be too hard to find. He really wasn't in the mood to be ridiculed further about the other man's attraction to him, though. He just wished he'd thought to ask Ben at least for the names of the other girls so they weren't searching blindly.

Dean felt slightly relieved as Sam left him alone to continue the web searching. It was much easier to concentrate without the distraction. He scanned the next couple pages of police reports and spotted a third possible victim.

Diana Farley of Bateman, Idaho, might have been moving out to California to seek fame and fortune. She'd only been reported missing when she'd failed to fill out a change of address form and the mail carrier noted that she hadn't been retrieving her mail in almost two weeks. The apartment, though, had been emptied, as if she'd packed up. And the friends they'd checked with mentioned that it was Diana's dream to be on television. Perhaps she decided it was time to make that dream come true. Or perhaps she was victim number three.

After another hour and a half of searching, potential victim number four turned up as Ellie Lincoln from Palo, who was last known to be moving away to pursue a young man who turned out to be married. Number five, Yancy Granger of Fort Dayne, may have decided to go AWOL rather than report to army boot camp. And finally number six, Helena Ortiz, an apparent drifter who was reported missing after she dropped her dog off at a vet and failed to return for it.

None of them were necessarily victims of anything, yet they'd all seemingly vanished without a trace. It could be that they'd purposely disappeared. Or there could be something out there that was taking them. The fact that they'd all apparently stopped through Prairieville, if Ben was right anyway, did make it awfully suspicious.

Armed with the four new names, Dean went to join Sam in the archives. He wasn't terribly surprised to find that Sam wasn't alone. Nor that Sam didn't look too happy about that fact.

"Are you sure you don't want me to put that back up there for you?" the young man holding the ladder asked. Sam looked back down over his shoulder, and Dean could see how irritated he looked.

"Dude, I'm taller than you are," Sam reminded the guy, sounding highly annoyed. Why was it that because of a few changes to his anatomy he was suddenly being seen as somehow frail or weak or something? And damn it, he was only a couple steps up from the ground; he didn't really need someone holding the ladder. He most definitely did not need someone holding the ladder by standing directly behind him, one hand on either side of his hips, just barely not touching him. Better that than actually touching him, he supposed, but not by much. He really didn't appreciate the extra attention he was receiving from the archivist. Most libraries he'd visited they pointed him the right direction and left him alone. Oh, how he missed that.

"While you're up there, we've got a few more places to check out," Dean announced. He smirked as the archive attendant quickly moved away from Sam, startled by Dean's presence. Waiting to be sure he had Sam's attention, Dean rattled off the dates and towns of the newspapers they needed.

"I found a couple things that dated back farther than Annabeth, too," Sam announced as he handed the latest box of newspapers from Palo down to Dean. "I'm not sure if any of the ones I've found are anything, though. It's like these women disappeared, but there are perfectly logical reasons for it, and there's nobody they've left behind that could or would really press the investigation. Either they had no attachments, or there were reasons that they would have left on their own without notifying anyone. They could just be people out seeking a new life. I've got a woman just out of a bad marriage, a woman who was about to be sent to jail for vehicular manslaughter, a girl who disappeared from a foster home, a contortionist missing from a traveling carnival…it goes on. There's no way to tell which ones are actually missing, or which ones just simply wanted to disappear."

Dean frowned. "Mine are like that, too," he admitted, looking at the list of names on his list. "I hate to say it, but there might not be anything for _us_ to be investigating here."

"We should at least do some checking, see if any of these women also came through Prairieville."

Dean nodded his agreement. There was a reason that they'd been sent to Prairieville, he was sure. And at least ten missing women in the surrounding area seemed pretty compelling, even if they were explainable disappearances. His gut told him that they weren't just coincidental.

He was sure of it an hour later while he and Sam compared notes as they drove back into Prairieville. Every single one of the missing girls was either estranged from their parents or orphaned. Most were reported missing by people who didn't really even know them well enough to pursue the matter beyond the initial report. Except for Ben, the brother of Ellie Lincoln, and the US Army it seemed that nobody even really missed the girls.

"We should still check out Annabeth's records," Dean determined as they turned onto Main Street. "We need to know if she had a car and walked out of here, or if she was on foot. And if she did have a car, we need to find out what happened to it."

"And if she didn't, maybe tomorrow we should head up to Palo and see if we can track down Ellie's brother," Sam added. "He might be able to give us a bit better a timeline on her disappearance."

Dean nodded his agreement as he pulled into one of the parking spaces in front of City Hall.

"Why don't you go check for records, I'm going to see if I can find Ben and see if he recognizes any of these girls," Sam said, gathering the pages they'd Xeroxed. "And wipe the smirk off your face," he added, not even looking in Dean's direction. "He is not my boyfriend."

Dean wasn't smirking this time, though. "Sam, I think maybe you should stay with me." Sam snorted as he rolled his eyes and opened the passenger side door. "I'm serious, Sam."

"I think you can handle the records alone. And I can take care of myself. I'm not helpless, you know."

Dean pursed his lips and watched in mild frustration as Sam got out and slammed the door shut behind him, ending the discussion. His brother could be so damn stubborn. As he got out of the car, though, he noticed that Sam hadn't gone anywhere yet. His brow furrowed slightly, then raised again as he spotted the likely reason. The sleezeballs from the diner were hanging around in front of the inn where Sam had a room.

See, that was exactly why he didn't want Sam to go off alone.

He made his way around the car to go protect his brother, making sure that while he didn't give the appearance of being worried, he managed to get between them and Sam before they spotted him.

"I can handle them, Dean," Sam hissed, moving from behind Dean's protection.

"I know you can, Sammy," Dean acknowledged, not wanting to argue, "but if there's a problem here, I've got your back."

Sam smiled weakly, a little embarrassed that he'd probably overreacted to Dean's offer of assistance. He was also not sure that his brother wasn't right about sticking together. While he had successfully fought them off before, he wasn't exactly relishing another go-around with them. He just wasn't sure how to say it now, after he'd just totally blown off Dean's concern. He hated admitting when he might possibly be in over his head.

Fortunately, Dean let him off lightly. "Come on, I could use your help…there might be something on the top shelf."

Sam let out a small amused snort, but gladly followed Dean into the building and down to the Records Office.

"Can I help you?" the cute red-headed girl at the desk asked, smiling appreciatively at Dean.

"Actually, yes." He pulled his wallet and flashed a badge at her, closing it before she could get too close a look at it. "I'm Dean and this is my partner Samantha," he smirked as he heard Sam make a small huff of annoyance. The girl spared Sam only a small look of distaste before returning her gaze to Dean. "We need to take a look through your motor vehicle records dated 2002 through current." When he saw the look of hesitation, he flashed his most charming smile and Sam rolled his eyes as Dean worked his self-professed 'magic'. Within just a couple minutes he found himself pouring over the records alone as Dean continued to distract the smitten brunette with lord only knew what drivel.

Sam managed to find a title and registration for a pickup truck in the name of David Rochester, but by the time Dean finally joined him, he'd come up empty on Annabeth and was already up to the 2004 records. He was thankful that it was a small town so there were relatively few records to search through. He handed Dean half the remaining stack of folders.

"So, Lila there has asked me to the lodge for dinner," Dean informed him. "I was thinking we should get your boyfriend and make it a double," he smirked as Sam glared across the table at him.

"He is not my boyfriend," Sam reiterated crossly, annoyed that Dean's amusement had resurfaced. "And we can't double."

"Sure we can. Lila says there's pretty decent food, some pool tables, poker game in the back, lots of drunken dancing. Should be a good time."

"Yeah, for you," Sam grumbled, fuming slightly as he saw Dean's grin widening. "I'm only going tonight so that I can talk to Ben about the missing girls. I can't exactly do that if Lila's with us. And it's _not a date_."

"Keep telling yourself that, Sammy," Dean teased as he started thumbing through the records. Unfortunately, he was quickly bored and his attention started wandering. He glanced over at Lila, who blushed and quickly looked away, embarrassed to have been caught watching him. He smirked and momentarily looked back at his current folder.

Boring boring boring.

He glanced across the table at Sam, who was leaning over the desk, his dress hanging down and revealing far more of his…cleavage than what would be considered decent. Dean swallowed hard as he got an eyeful. He looked away quickly, his face heating up slightly. "Uh…Sam?" He chanced a peek over at his brother, who sat up again, looking at him questioningly. He opened his mouth, but couldn't come up with the right thing to say. So he just smiled and shook his head. "Never mind."

Sam's eyes narrowed, but after a moment he returned his attention back to the documents he was searching. And his dress hung down again. Dean's mouth went dry. Christ. What the hell had he done?

He covered up his discomfort by falling back on a favorite past time. Needling his brother. "So…your date. You going to sleep with him?" He nearly bust a gut as Sam's eyes popped and jaw dropped.

"What!" When Dean only grinned wider and raised an eyebrow, he shook his head. "No. Jesus, Dean, I'm not gay," Sam sputtered.

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not saying you are! But you're also…not exactly a guy," he motioned toward Sam's chest. "But okay, you know girl-on-girl's pretty hot, maybe I can get…"

Sam shoved his stack of documents at Dean, too furious to even speak to his brother as he got up to leave.

Dean frowned, realizing that once again he'd pushed too far. Sometimes his mouth moved before his brain thought better of it. He paled and rose to his feet.

"Don't." Sam held up his hands in a tense gesture. "Just…leave me alone. I even see you tonight and I'll…"

_You'll what, Sammy,_ Dean silently goaded his brother, wanting the younger man to alleviate some of his guilt by saying something mean. But it appeared that Sam was too angry to even finish the threat. Dean sighed, realizing that he was going to have to do some serious apologizing again. "Look, Sammy…"

But Sam only blasted past him and stormed out of the room.

Dean started to go after him, but Lila grabbed his arm and stopped him, looking at him with a mixture of exasperation and pity. "You should have told me you two were…together," she said with only a little bit of accusation in her voice. Dean was about to protest, but then realized that he'd have to come up with a pretty good reason for Sam to be that upset with a simple 'partner'. So he let her believe it. "Trust me, she's not going to listen to you until she calms down. And you're going to have to do some major groveling and sucking up. Flowers wouldn't hurt…" Dean looked where Sam had gone and sighed. Yeah, he should probably give his brother a couple minutes at least.

Sam was so angry he could barely even see straight. He just wanted to go back to the inn and sleep until he was back to normal, but he couldn't even do that. He couldn't abandon the investigation. Those missing women deserved to be found, though he doubted they were still alive, their lives should be given a proper closure. Plus, they had to make sure that this didn't happen to any more women who had the misfortune to stop through Prairieville.

He was so intent on getting back to his room that he almost blew right past the Impala without even noticing it. It was the colored glass crunching under his boots that drew his attention. What the…?

He turned and looked at the car, bile rising in his throat as he took in the sorry site. He could barely breathe as he slowly rounded the car, surveying the damage. Someone had…beaten the hell out of it. The tires were all slashed to shreds, the windows, mirrors, and tail lights broken, and there were dents on the hood and trunk. It looked as though someone had taken a baseball bat to it.

If he felt sick looking at it, all anger melting away as he took it all in. Dean was going to...well he'd be crushed. This was his baby. It looked like it was entirely surface damage, at least, but…Sam knelt down to pick up the broken side mirror, knowing he wouldn't be able to do a lot of good, but maybe he could at least salvage some of it.

He was so intent on his task that he didn't even hear them approach until it was too late. At the very last moment, he sensed rather than heard someone behind him. He started to look up, but before he could even turn his head, his world exploded in a flash of white light.

Dean listened to Lila's unhelpful advice for only a couple minutes before he started getting the distinct feeling that he needed to go find Sam. His instincts were rarely wrong, and they were screaming at him that he should not let his brother out of his sight. "You know what, I think I really need to go make sure Sam's all right," he finally cut Lila off, leaving even as she protested.

"She's not going to listen!" he heard her calling after him. And she was probably right. Sam had every right to be pissed off. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

He skipped two of every three of the steps as he climbed back to the main floor, and broke into a jog, ignoring the clerk's warning that there was no running in the hallway.

He skidded to a stop just outside the door as he saw what had happened to his car.

He blinked, thinking just maybe when his eyes opened again he'd see her back in the near-pristine condition he kept her. But the damage was still there.

Son of a BITCH!

"Damn it, Sammy," he fumed. He knew Sam was mad, and rightfully so, but this was…unforgivable. He knew he deserved some sort of retribution, but this was too far.

He angrily kicked at the broken glass on the ground. Unbelievable! He shook his head, his jaw set as he walked around the car to see what all had been done to it. Damn, Sam, why would you…

He frowned. This wasn't like Sam. Sure, his brother had a temper, but he wasn't…destructive.

He walked around the car again, slower. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, exactly, but he knew it immediately when he saw it. Just a few drops, but it was there. Plain as day.

Blood.

"Sammy?" He called out, raising to his feet and turning, searching the area for any signs of his brother. His heart began beating faster as he saw no one.

Not even the Bumpkins.

Oh God.

He spun around again, hoping against hope that he'd missed something the first time, but no luck. He turned his attention back to the car, hoping to find any sort of clue. And there it was, sitting on the passenger seat. Bile rose in his throat as he saw the slash marks in the upholstery. Slash marks that crudely spelled out a word.

MINE

A/N: Thanks again for reading! All reviews are highly appreciated; constructive criticism is welcomed. --Chaos


	5. Chapter 5

The Road to Hell

Chapter Five

"Sam!" Dean called out as he scanned the street for any sort of lead to where his brother might have been taken. There was an alley, just ahead. A prime spot for…his heart rose into his throat he charged into the alley in an uncharacteristically unplanned move, prepared to rescue his brother from things he didn't even want to think about. But the alley was empty. Damn it. "Sammy!" he bellowed in borderline panic as he changed direction and returned to the street. This couldn't be happening. Not again. Wasn't one psychotic backwater family of brothernappers enough to face in one lifetime?

He came to a halt mid-street and slowly spun around, taking a mental inventory of everything. His sight and hearing acutely tuned, he sought anything that seemed out of place. There was nothing but plain old small town silence.

His frown deepened as he tried to keep the increasingly bad thoughts from distracting him. He couldn't stop them completely, though. The idea that his brother was out there--hurt, possibly unconscious, and probably in the clutches of the worst kind of human slime--was almost too much to bear. And thanks to his not-so-funny-after-all prank, there was a whole new set of worries for him to consider.

There was only one small consolation and that was that at least Sam's disappearance didn't fit the same modus operandi as the other women who'd vanished. The others were gone without leaving any trace, while whoever had taken Sammy hadn't made any attempt to cover their tracks. He had faith that he would find his brother; he just wasn't sure he was ready to face what state he might find his brother in. Sam's disappearance had 'stupid bumpkins' written all over it. Dean's gut twisted as his mind flashed back to the attack at the diner. He'd flown into a rage as he'd seen the blatantly sexual nature of their assault.

Dean knew his brother and if Sam had still been conscious at all he would have fought with everything he had to get away from them. The only way they could have taken Sam is if they'd knocked him unconscious and unable to defend himself. Which meant he was currently completely at their mercy, which Dean doubted much that they had much of. And this time Dean wasn't there this time to help him.

Oh gods, he was going to be sick.

But he didn't have time to waste on that. He couldn't let Sam down any more than he already had by putting him in this position in the first place. He'd conduct a house-to-house search of the whole damn town if he had to. He stormed back to the Impala and popped the trunk, not caring who witnessed his foraging for weapons. Holstering a revolver in his belt and sliding a blade into his boot, he slammed the trunk shut.

Now he just needed to figure out where to start. He scanned the eerily empty street again, his sight settling on the inn where Sam was staying. He considered for a moment. Maybe Sam had gotten into a fight with the creeps and then made his way back over there to patch up.

He surveyed the damage to the car, his attention focused on the ground where the few drops of blood remained. His hope for Sam's escape diminished as he saw what looked like drag marks leading away from the Impala, most likely to where another car was waiting.

As he crossed the street to the inn, Dean hoped, against all the evidence to the contrary, that Sam had somehow managed to break free from his assailants and return to the safety of his room. Dean never should have let Sam out of his sight. And he never should have laced his drink with the serum from Mme. Louisa, he admitted silently. He swore that when he got Sam back, he would never again make jokes at his brother's expense. And he would apologize. Profusely. Hell, if anything…bad happened to Sam, he would spend the rest of his life making it up to his brother. If that was even possible. Regardless, his guilt was not going to go away. Ever.

He stalked into the inn, doing his best to keep his temper and his fear under control as he made his way to the counter. There was a small sign on the desk alerting him that he'd need to ring the service bell if there was no one at the desk. Before he did so, however, he took an opportunity to scout the area. His heart tightened as he noticed that there were four key hooks for the rooms…and there were four keys hanging. He closed his eyes for a moment, his fear gnawing at his gut as the implication of that sank in. Sam was gone, and it appeared that he'd been checked out of his hotel room. Maybe they kept a record of when that happened. There had hardly been time for Sam to have gotten beat up and kidnapped and checked out of his room in the short amount of time that Dean had talked to Lila. It just didn't make sense. Unless someone else had checked him out of there.

He didn't even bother to make sure there would be no witness as he leaned over the counter and grabbed the log book. He clenched his jaw as he flipped it open to the last used page and saw Sam checked in to Room number 4 that morning, but there was no indication at all that he'd checked out. At least there was no sign of anyone covering up his even being there.

Dean shoved the book back into place and leaned farther over the counter, snagging room key number four from the hook and showing himself up the stairs to the room.

He barely even took in the pink frilliness of the room, focusing instead on the fact that Sam's gear was still there. He did a quick inventory, but found nothing pertinent missing from his brother's belongings. He wasn't sure if that should reassure him or not, but really it just made him feel all the more helpless.

Someone here had to know what happened, though; how else would they have gotten Sam's key back? He locked the door behind him, and pocketed the key, heading back to the counter where he rang the service bell, and worked at reigning in his temper while he waited for the attendant to appear.

"Can I help you?" the elderly matron inquired as she made her way out from the back room.

"Yes, I'm looking for my br…" crap "..ide. Well fiancé actually," he stammered, mentally cursing himself. "She checked in this morning. Brown hair, really tall…" he held his hand up to approximate Sam's height. He frowned as he saw the really sad look spreading across the woman's face.

"Oh dear…"

"Have you seen her?"

The woman nodded slowly. "Yes, such a sweet girl. I just didn't realize that she was…well, poor Ben will be disappointed," she groused. "He seemed so happy this morning, too. I'm afraid your fiancé has stepped out, but I can take a message for her if you'd like?"

Dean shook his head, frowning as his intuition kicked into overdrive. Ben. The man had self-professed contact with at least a few of the victims, was even engaged to one of them. It made sense that he'd have followed that case, but how had he known what to look for with the other victims? And surely he hadn't been reading newspapers from all over the state just randomly discovering that these other girls he'd talked to had disappeared as well. Had he? Given he could have gone up to the library in Jackson just as Sam and he had, but how likely was that? Especially considering that he hadn't then forwarded the information he'd gotten on to authorities. No one in their right mind would just sit on that information would they? Damn, why hadn't he seen it before? He pushed back the guilt as he realized he'd been too busy making fun of Ben's definite interest in Sam to really consider the possibility that there was anything sinister about it.

Dean paused at the entrance to the inn and looked back at the attendant. "You wouldn't by chance know where I'd find Ben would you?" he asked, keeping the fury from his voice.

The woman shook her head. "I'm sure if you walk around a little you'll find him, he's always busy around town. He usually stops in a few times a day to check up on me. I can leave him a message if you'd like."

"Where does he live?" Dean requested, ignoring her suggestion. He didn't have time to wait for Ben to just show up. He made his way back to the counter.

The woman shook her head, a stern look on her face. "I really don't think I should--"

"Please. I need to talk to him right away," he gave her an earnest look, hoping that his charms worked on older women as well as it did on the younger ones.

"I'm sorry young man, but no. I can't give that information out."

"Damn it!" Dean blew his cool and his fist slammed down on the counter. He let out a frustrated hiss of air as he saw her cringe away from him looking frightened. Aw hell. He decided it was time to take a page from Sam's book and try leveling with her. Well, some of it anyway. "Look, I'm sorry, but it's really important. There was some trouble this morning at the diner, these guys were giving Sam a hard time. Now she's missing and I'm afraid something has happened to her. It's really important that I see Ben right away. He saw these guys harassing her, and might know who they are and where to find them."

The woman's fearful expression slowly melted into a compassionate one and she stared at him for a few moments. He could feel her judging. He was about to give up waiting for her to make her decision when they were startled by someone opening the front door.

Ben.

Dean's expression turned stormy and he was across the foyer and grabbing Ben by the shirt and slamming him against the wall in a split second. "Where's Sam," he demanded.

Ben blinked and gaped at Dean for a moment, confusion clouding his expression. "Sam…?"

Oh hell no. This guy wasn't going to play dumb. Dean pulled Ben away from the wall and slammed him against it again, secretly delighting in the small thud as the man's head bounced off the hard wood. "You know who I'm talking about. Where is Sam?" He stared into Ben's eyes, his own blazing.

"O-of course I know Sam," Ben stammered, still gaping at Dean, a look of distress crossing his face. "She was with you, last I knew. Did something…?" He shook his head. "I swear I don't know where she is."

Dean stared at him, his fury stepping down a notch as he saw no sign of dishonesty in the man's eyes. Crap. He let go of Ben's shirt and stepped back slightly, closing his eyes and absently rubbing his temple. Okay, so if it wasn't Ben, he calculated, it had to be his original suspects. He blew out a slightly calming breath. "I think she's in trouble. The guys that were bothering her this morning…do you know where I'd find them?"

Ben hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "Yeah. I'll take you there." He turned and looked over at the woman at the counter. "Shirl, I think you better call the state patrol. Tell them we're headed out to Crocker's Farm and they might want to send someone to meet us there." He turned back to Dean grimly. "Let's go."

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed already and to those who will review. As always constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated. Thanks for sticking with me, and I swear I'll try to update more frequently. --Chaos


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I'm so incredibly sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out. Writer's block is not my friend, but she just won't go away!

Thank you to Amu (  ) and others on the supernaturalontheWB list for giving me another reminder that there are actually still people interested in reading the rest. I will try my best to get the last chapters completed at a much more reasonable rate!

WARNINGS: There is non-con-ish-ness in this chapter. And much Sammy abuse.

And the character "Bobby" is NOT in any way the same as the one on the show—he was named before I knew there was a character Bobby on the show.

Sam was fairly certain that the next time he opened his eyes he was going to find himself in a cage in some deranged hillbilly family's barn. That was one of the reasons that he avoided opening his eyes for several moments after the first teasing hints of consciousness. Another reason was that his head was throbbing mercilessly and he was afraid that he was going to throw up at any moment…which would be a very bad thing considering that it seemed that something had been jammed into his mouth to keep him from calling out for help. The main reason he kept them closed, though, was that he didn't want to alert anyone else that he was awake; not until he could collect his thoughts, gain his bearings, and develop a plan of escape.

As he became more conscious, Sam realized that he was somehow being held upright. His body was supported entirely by his wrists, which were aching both from the strain of his weight and from the excruciatingly tight wire binding them to some sort of metal bar that extended over his head. Instinct was to try and get his feet solidly on the ground to take over the weight, but to do so would reveal his conscious state, so he forced himself to remain still.

Taking a mental inventory of his body, he was disappointed to discover that his morning hadn't just been some sort of weird hallucination. He hadn't miraculously transformed back to his natural body. He took only minimal comfort in the fact that aside from the knot on the back of his head, he was basically unharmed. And at least his clothing, scant as it was, was still intact.

Sam listened carefully, relaxing only slightly as he established that wherever he was, he was most likely alone. There were no sounds of movement, no sounds of breathing. No sounds at all, really, except for the soft dripping of a leaky pipe. It was cold, and he could feel no tell-tale signature of heat from the sun shining upon him, so he figured it was either night time, or he was being held in an area with no windows. He inhaled slowly, concentrating on not showing disgust on his face as he was nearly overwhelmed by the stench lingering in the room. There was a very unpleasant human odor, though Sam was fairly sure that it was the residual scent of someone that had, for the time being anyway, backed off since it was nearly overpowered by the repulsive aromas of mold, rotting food, and general filth.

Satisfied that he was not being observed, Sam cautiously opened his eyes, carefully shifted his legs under him, and planted his feet firmly on the floor, transferring the weight off his overstraining arms. He couldn't lower them, but at least it helped alleviate the pressure. He tested the strength of the bar his wrists were bound to and was disappointed, but not surprised, to find that it was pretty solid. He'd need to loosen the wire to get his wrists free. He winced as he tried to adjust their position and felt the wire biting into his already raw skin. There was absolutely no give in the tension. Damn.

He took a few moments to take stock of his situation. He wasn't, as he'd feared, in a cage. Nor was he in a barn. He realized quickly, however, that he was being held in some deranged hillbilly family's basement. With only a small amount of light trickling in from a nearly covered window near the ceiling, Sam could see that rusty tools, soggy piles of old newspapers, and mounds of garbage filled most of the available space in the dank cellar. He wondered briefly if his captors had to shovel out a spot for him.

If he could get to them, there were three potential exits to his filthy prison, he assessed. The window, he decided, was probably too small. He might be able to get through, but he'd risk getting stuck, and if he only got one chance at escape, he'd need to be able to move fast. That left the staircase leading up presumably into the rest of the hillbilly house; certainly an option, but not the most desirable one. The third exit was the most promising means of escape; an old storm cellar door, likely leading directly outside. It could be jammed shut from the outside, he knew, but he was banking on the fact that they probably weren't too concerned that he'd be able to even get to the door, bound as he was.

That was a problem he was going to have to remedy fast. He looked up at the pipe, seeking weak spots, or possibly a way to dismantle it. He could see where it was screwed into a u-bend spacer and smirked as glancing in the other direction revealed the same thing. Perfect. He couldn't risk getting caught, so he hesitated for a few moments, listening carefully for any sign that someone was coming. Hearing nothing, he set to work. He gripped the bar as best he could with the awkward angle his bound wrists allowed, and tried to twist it, hoping to be able to unscrew the bar from the u-bends. Once he got it unscrewed, he'd be able to slide the wire right off the end, and as soon as he was able to lower his arms, he figured, he'd be able to get to the blade the morons had thankfully not bothered to remove from his boot. Unfortunately, the bar didn't want to budge. "Damn it," he cursed around the gag in his mouth as he tried again, unsuccessfully.

Not being able to remove the bar complicated matters, but he refused to give up. He tried pulling at the wire again, hoping to loosen it enough to slip his hands free, but it was much to tight with absolutely no give. Pulling harder resulted only in the wire slicing through his skin. He winced at the trickle of blood that dribbled down his arms.

Well crap.

He let out a frustrated hiss and stopped pulling, afraid he would cause irreparable damage.

Still, he was determined to get free before his captors returned. He didn't even want to think about who had brought him there or why. He had a fairly good idea about the answers to both of those questions, though he hoped he was wrong on at least the "why" factor. If he could get his hands free, he'd no doubt be able to handle the "who". The problem was he didn't seem to be making progress on his escape.

He thought for a moment, his eyes darting toward the stairwell first to make sure he was still being unobserved, and then scouting the room for anything that might be of help. Nothing that he'd be able to get to, he silently fumed.

Then again, he considered for a moment, it wasn't like his legs were chained in any way. Maybe…he closed his eyes and centered his focus. He could do this. He took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for the added pain he was probably about to inflict on his wrists. He gripped the bar again and began to swing his body, at first only enough to gather momentum, then with greater purpose. He grit his teeth and with a fierce determination he swung his legs up until at last he was able to capture the bar, grinning ferally as he managed to hook his ankles around it to keep hold. For a moment he hung there, regaining his breath and listening again to make sure he hadn't aroused any suspicion.

That was half the battle; now, the hard part.

He slowly slid his feet closer to his bloodied, bound hands, cursing the way the dress Dean had stuck him with hung obscenely high on his body. He was alone, so he knew it shouldn't matter, but it made him ever more conscious of the direness of his situation. Though he had to reluctantly admit that his new body seemed more flexible and agile than normal, muscles he wasn't used to working began to argue with him. He pressed on until his ankles nearly met his wrists and the knife's handle was within reach.

And then the worst happened.

He realized his error just a moment too late.

Time seemed to freeze as the blade slipped from its sheath. He scrambled, trying to grab onto it, but the wire had no give and he couldn't quite reach it. He almost involuntarily let out a small cry of defeat as the knife clattered to the ground.

No! He stared at it, his jaw drooping as he watched it skitter across the cement floor and come to rest what may as well have been miles away. The horror of the moment sank in as he heard the unmistakable sound of a door closing in the distance, followed by the creaking of someone walking the floor above him. He'd blown what might have been his only chance at escape. No no no. He began pulling at his wrists in desperation, clenching his teeth and fighting through the pain as his skin tore.

He heard the door slamming again and then heard the muffled sound of voices. And laughter. He froze as after a few moments he heard the screech of the un-oiled door hinges at the top of the stairs open. His heart began to pound as he heard footsteps on the stairs. He let his legs drop to the ground, wincing as he felt blood dribbling down his once again outstretched arms. He tensed his body, ready to fight with everything he had, limited as it was. He felt the hair on the back of his neck raise as his captors approached. He twisted his neck around to glare at them as they neared. Let them know he wasn't scared of them, even if he was slightly.

"Not feeling quite so smart now, are you, Girlie?" one of them asked; Sam still didn't know which one was Bobby and which was Kyle, not that it really mattered. He steeled himself, refusing to even flinch as the creep reached toward him.

"Touch me and I will kill you," he ground out through the gag. Though he knew his words were unintelligible, the fury in his eyes spoke volumes. He was satisfied to note the thug's hesitation and hasty withdraw, but unfortunately the reprieve did not last long. The jackals were circling and Sam found he couldn't keep his eyes on both of them at once. He grit his teeth and held his ground defiantly, waiting for his chance to strike. He didn't like the odds--two against one, he could handle, but not while his hands were tied to the damn bar, and not when one mistake could cost him dearly.

"What the…what's this?" Sam turned his head toward the speaker and scowled as he realized what the man had spotted. His knife. He silently cursed himself as the man stooped to pick it up. His eyes flickered warily over to the other man, keeping his expression icy enough to keep the man at bay. "This yours, Sweetheart?"

Sam's lip twitched as he bit back a retort that would likely only get him into deeper trouble. Right now he just had to concentrate on keeping his wits and finding the right moment to make his move. Problem was he wasn't sure he could really do anything more than buy himself some time. He hated to admit it, but what he really needed here was a last minute rescue from Dean. So much for proving that he could handle himself. Damn he'd been so stupid to let them get the drop on him.

"Were you going to cut me, bitch?" the man hissed, turning the blade over in his hand. Sam sensed the change in the atmosphere and tensed, ready for the assault. He watched the man's eyes and waited, hoping that his other attacker wasn't smart enough to take a shot while he was clearly occupied. He could afford a fist to the gut, but the knife…it was his favorite one, and he knew it could cut through skin and muscle as though it were paper.

The man lunged and Sam struck, simultaneously dodging the blade and swinging his leg out hard to sweep the man's legs out from under him. When the man fell, he immediately gripped the bar and swung his legs back, catching the second thug in the gut. The man went down hard, but Sam knew he wouldn't be down long. Now what? He tried once again to twist the bar out of the u-bend sockets, biting back a yelp as the wire sliced his skin. He let out a pained yelp, but continued in his effort. At this point, mangling his wrists might just be the better option.

He almost laughed with relief as he felt the bar move just a hair, the adrenaline pumping through his body granting him a little extra strength. With a little more time, he'd be able to get loose. But then the man with the knife was getting up. "Damn it, Kyle, hold her…" he growled as he started toward Sam again. Swallowing his fear, Sam waited for the man to get within range then kicked out again, this time catching the man's wrist and sending the knife flying from his grip. He followed up with another kick, this time to the underside of the man's jaw. He sensed rather than saw Kyle coming at him and quickly swung his hips, dodging a blow, then swung back, once again knocking the man off his feet.

"Come on," he chided himself as he once again set to trying to loosen the bar. He could feel sweat trickling down his brow, and his arms were beginning to tremble slightly from the strain, and he had to admit, more than a little bit of fear. He felt the bar move a little bit more and adjusted his grip. Just a little bit more, he pleaded silently, trying not to panic as he struggled to free himself before his assailants could ready for another attack. He wasn't sure how long he'd be able to fend them off before he made a mistake and it would be all over. The bar began twisting more easily, but Sam was becoming painfully more aware of just how much damage he was doing to his wrists. If he got free, it would be worth it, he reminded himself. "Come on…" His heart leapt as one end of the bar slipped free. He looked up to gauge how much further he had to go. Just a tiny bit more and--

Sam cried out involuntarily as his legs were pulled out from under him. His hands slipped on the bar, once again leaving his wrists to bear his entire weight. The enormity of his mistake hit home as he felt the tip of the knife poke against his throat, breaking the skin just enough for blood to bead at the blade's edge. He winced as his attacker grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked his head back further, throwing him even more off balance. He could feel the man's hot breath against his cheek and turned away, his eyes closing in revulsion as the creep moved closer still, his body flush against Sam's. Sam's body tensed as his mind raced frantically, seeking escape. He couldn't fight, not while there was a knife at his throat. He could only wait for Bumpkin to make one false move. He let his body go slack, hoping that it would cause his attacker's guard to go down.

"That's it, girlie," the vile man whispered in his ear. Sam bit down harder on his gag, but otherwise didn't respond. He was aware that Kyle was moving in close behind him, and let out a guttural sound of fury as Bobby nudged his legs apart, moving obscenely close.

He flinched for the first time as he felt Kyle's hands on his hips. He cringed inwardly at the hot breath on the back of his neck. Bile rose in his throat as the tip of the knife slowly traced a line down his neck until it reached the top of his dress. He couldn't breathe as he felt the knife blade slide down further, under his dress, the flat edge of the knife pressing against his breast. He flinched again as he heard Bobby's low chuckle at his distress. The man was clearly enjoying the terror he was no longer completely able to hide. He shuddered as he felt one of Kyle's hands sliding first down his hip, then slowly around, creeping ever so slowly up his thigh. He swallowed a miserable sob as he felt his dress being raised. He wanted to kick, to fight, but he was in far too precarious a position so long as Bobby had the knife.

_Please, Dean, help me, _he silently begged for the big brother who was always there to protect him. But Dean probably didn't even know he was gone. He was probably still down in that office flirting with the attendant. Even if he'd come outside, he'd probably seen what was done to his beloved Impala and thought Sam had done it out of anger. He probably didn't even realize Sam was missing.

He was going to have to get himself out of this. Which meant he was going to have to stay calm. He'd handled far worse than this before, he tried to tell himself. All they were doing was touching him, really, and it wasn't like it was even his real body. Still, no matter how much he wanted to think of it that way, it didn't change the horror of what was happening. He'd far rather take a beating. Those he understood; those he could wrap his head around. This, though…this sort of thing was never supposed to happen to him, and it was totally messing up his emotions. He was filling with rage, confusion, and shame all at once. Part of him longed for Dean to burst in and save him, but part of him prayed that Dean never ever knew what he was allowing to happen to him.

He should be fighting, Sam argued with himself. So he'd have a few more scars. What did he care about that? His survival instinct, however, told him that he needed to bide his time or it wasn't just scars he'd be worrying about. He needed to stay calm and use his wits to get him out of there.

The only good thing about the situation, he realized, was that the bumpkins were quite distracted. He began very slowly turning the pipe, praying that the two men wouldn't notice what he was up to. He ignored their groping hands, opting instead on concentrating on the mental image of him slamming the bar against their skulls. He wasn't a killer, but by God if these two wouldn't deserve it.

He couldn't contain the small whimper as he felt Bobby's mouth on his neck. Or the sob when he felt his underwear being tugged so hard it began to tear. He screamed in earnest as Bobby forced his legs apart and moved between them. NO! He didn't care about the knife anymore. He couldn't let this happen! He could feel the skin of his wrists tearing as he tried in vain to pull free. No! He thrashed his body, but there was no way to escape. He felt the knife blade suddenly jerk upward, slicing through the thin material of his dress. While it exposed the lacy bra Dean had given him, it also gave him exactly what he needed. A moment when the blade wasn't directly against his skin. It was now or never.

With a bellow of fury, he lashed out, kicking Bobby in the groin as hard as he could. The man tumbled backward, the knife clattering to the ground and skidding out of reach as the man curled in on himself in clear agony. But Sam couldn't take the time to feel any satisfaction from it. He stomped down on Kyle's foot. At the same time he gave the bar one big final twist and swung his body around, hitting Kyle hard enough with it to feel at least one rib cracking. He swung again, this time connecting with the man's head. Kyle went down. Part of him wanted to keep hitting, hurt them for the way they wanted to hurt him. But again his survival instinct told him it was time for flight rather than fight. He was in no condition to fight them. His wrists were bleeding profusely and it was starting to make him feel a little dizzy.

He stooped down and picked up the knife, using it to finally cut the wire as he headed for the stairs. He was only part way up the steps when he heard someone getting up behind him. He turned, preparing to kick whoever it was back down, but he miscalculated and Bobby grabbed his ankle, twisting hard enough to bring Sam crashing back down. Once again he lost his grip on the knife, and the bar tumbled out of reach.

"You _bitch!_" Bobby bellowed, his fist slamming into Sam's face. And again. Sam was too dazed to fight back and the blows kept coming. He was only dimly aware when the beating ended and the man flipped him onto his back, pinning him helplessly to the floor. He heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone and wanted to fight, but couldn't even move. He closed his eyes and tried to will himself away. This wasn't happening. He was somewhere else. Dean had come to save him.

"You son of a bitch!" Dean growled, taking the steps four at a time and bounding across the room in a single bound. Sam smiled through his haze. Dean always was like a superman. If only he were really here. His eyes drifted close and he let unconsciousness take him.

Dean grabbed hold of Bobby Crocker, yanked him off of Sam and dashed him headfirst into the wall. He didn't even bother to check if he'd killed the man; he only wanted to get to his brother. He turned to view the damage. "Sam? Sammy? Oh…" he stared at his battered brother in horror, tears springing unabashedly to his eyes. This was his fault. There was no way he'd ever be able to make this one up.

"Get her out of here," Ben gave him a little push. "I'll take care of them until the sheriff gets here." He pulled his cellphone from his belt to make the call.

Dean looked up in shock, having forgotten about everything but his brother. He looked toward the two men who'd hurt Sam, one apparently unconscious by his brother's hand, the other by his own. He wanted to kill them, but his concern for Sam was even stronger, so he nodded. "Sammy?" he whispered, kneeling down. Sam didn't respond, and Dean was almost afraid to touch him. What had he done? Part of him wanted to run, didn't want to face the consequences of his prank. Sam must hate him. And he'd sure as hell never be forgiven. But he could never abandon Sam. Especially not like this. He took off his coat and covered his brother before gently gathering him in his arms. "I got you, Sammy," he whispered as he carefully lifted his brother from the ground.

"Take her back to the hotel," Ben spoke gently, pressing his keys into the Dean's hand. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Dean barely acknowledged him at all as he adjusted his hold on his precious burden.

Ben watched as Dean carried Sam from the basement, then turned and looked around, taking in the horrifying scene. He picked up Samantha's blade. She'd want that back. He slid it into his boot. Then he stooped and picked up the bloodied bar, shaking his head in disgust.

He scowled as Bobby Crocker began to stir, but waited until the man was fully conscious before moving closer.

"I told you not to fucking touch her," he growled, raising the bar high above his head. Bobby's eyes widened but he didn't even have time to raise his arms in defense before the bar caved in his head. "She's mine."

A/N: Thanks for reading. Again I'll do my best to get the last chapters completed at a MUCH faster rate. Any and all constructive criticism is welcomed, and I highly appreciate it when people even just take the time to let me know they read it. Later! --Chaos


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